I thought climbing the Devil's Thumb would fix all that was wrong with my life. In the end, of course, it changed almost nothing. But I came to appreciate that mountains make poor receptacles for dreams.
Like a word on a page that you’ve printed and read a million times, that suddenly looks strange or wrong, foreign. And you feel scared for a second, like you’ve lost something, even if you’re not sure what it is.
What was wrong with me? Why could I not just flip the switch and see all the brightness ahead if only I chose the correct path? Or rather, why could I see the correct path but not choose to tread upon it?
Scarce was the verdict spoken, When that still calm was broken, A childish form hath burst into the throng; With tears and looks of sadness, That bring no news of gladness, But tell too surely something hath gone wrong!
This is not to say, there never comes a day I'll take my chances and start again. And when I look behind on all my younger times, I'll have to thank the wrongs that led me to a love so strong.
The first ingredient to being wrong is to claim that you are right. Geniuses have a knack for raising new questions. Hence by the public they are either admired for their creativity or, even more commonly so, detested for disturbing the daily peace o...
The scar on my chest, the beating of my heart, and the mountains that fostered my appreciation for the cold, hard, natural world—these were the few things that mattered.
There was something about total loyalty, uncritical devotion, endless patience, perpetual forgiveness and the general inability to believe that a loved one could ever do anything wrong that, frankly, just gave him the creeps.
That was torture--being able to see, and smell, and hear, and being trapped in a cage. Like standing on the wrong side of the fence, only a few feet from freedom, and knowing you'll never cross it. Yeah. Like that.
I’m standing here on a deserted road on a cold night, wondering how something so beautiful could go so incredibly wrong. My name is Christian Castro and this is the story of how I lost it all.
Look, when I’m here, I don’t have to think. I don’t have to worry. I don’t even have to be me if I don’t want to. That came out wrong. I don’t have to be the me I have to be all day.
LOOK! EVEN I HAVE DONE WRONG, I HAVE BEEN SENT INTO JAIL. WHAT IS THE USE OF STRIKE? GO STRIKE. BUT THE COUNTRY NEEDS ITS FUTURE! IT’S EDUCATION! KILL THE CRIMINAL LIKE ME
Samsa certainly had no idea what lay ahead. He was in the dark about everything: the future, of course, but the present and the past as well . What was right, and what was wrong? Just learning how to dress was a riddle.
If someone can prove me wrong and show me my mistake in any thought or action, I shall gladly change. I seek the truth, which never harmed anyone: the harm is to persist in one's own self-deception and ignorance.
There's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. I think sometimes the Lord wants us to wonder. To ask. To share our uncertainties. He wants to give us those answers. Keep thinking. Keep wondering, Gideon.
In a setting of formal education, one would imagine that abstract thought would be encouraged, and that questioning obvious errors within the current system wouldn’t be frowned upon. Wrong again; these cunts are out to protect their pocket books an...
Being illegitimate is a technicality. It does not mean that there is anything wrong with you. Men use "bastard" as a curse. But to use the term thus is to show that they themselves are less than a proper human being.
If we experience any failures or setbacks, we do not forget them because they offend our self-esteem. Instead we reflect on them deeply, trying to figure out what went wrong and discern whether there are any patterns to our mistakes.
Charity groped for the phone, coming up with it at last and croaking "hello" in a voice that sounded exactly like a bullfrog's mating call. Which made a kind of twisted sense -- last night she'd been hunting for a mate as well.
Charity felt rather snoozy after the long sermon, and she was really very grateful when Reverend Meeps offered her a cup of tea. Church was not so bad when the minister remembered you were only human.
Punishing a person for the wrongs of another makes about as much sense as throwing up to enjoy the meal a second time.
